


With Fire in my Veins

by RedEmerald



Series: Make Yourself A Home [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Credence Barebone Deserves Better, Existential Crisis, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, awkward but careful & caring friendship, more hurt than comfort if i'm honest, they're doing their best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-02
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-14 01:46:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10526310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedEmerald/pseuds/RedEmerald
Summary: "-Where does magic come from, Credence asked.He didn’t say “where does my magic come from”, and the possessive floated in the air like a lazy bumblebee. He didn’t exactly expect anyone to catch it. Very few people cared that much about insects."Credence has many questions about magic and the wizarding world. He's learning and trying to adapt, one existential crisis at a time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 2 of the Make Yourself A Home series, but can be read as an OS. The first part do explain what happened to Credence in the first few months after the movie, though.
> 
>  
> 
> The title comes from the song "Live Before I Die" by Marina Kaye. Basically the "Credence theme song" on my playlist for this series...

 

 

-Where does magic come from, Credence asked.

 

He didn’t say “where does _my_ magic come from”, and the possessive floated in the air like a lazy bumblebee. He didn’t exactly expect anyone to catch it. Very few people cared that much about insects.

Credence was sitting in the freezing wind of the magical case Mr.Scamander -no, Newt, he reminded himself for the thousandth time in two months- transported everywhere. He’d used a charm to keep his own body temperature stable, but he could still feel the fake snowflakes falling and melting on his skin in a rather disturbing way. No matter how many times Credence came down there, he still wasn’t used to feeling the cold without being cold.

In front of him, the Obscurus that resided in the case was swirling calmly, always at peace when Credence was around. It looked like the darkest jellyfish possible. It was a strange view for Credence; he had never seen an Obscurus before he first visited the case, despite having one living behind his ribcage. It’s not like he had ever taken the time to look in a mirror when the Obscurus took over his consciousness. Not that Credence looked into mirrors a lot: despite the fact that his appearance had changed quite a lot in the past few months, he was still as uneasy as when he lived in the church when he saw his own reflexion. Learning to shave with a spell now saved him from having to stare at his face every morning. His Obscurus infused Credence with its own feelings. It liked knowing the other one near, it started a primal feeling of recognition, of longing and sadness in Credence. _We’re the same_ , it seemed to transmit him. _It’s sad and almost dead. But we’re the same._

 

-No one really knows, Mr. Scamander answered.

 

His voice was muffled by the snow he was lying in, as he was trying to extract some creatures from their burrow. He had “acquired” them a couple weeks earlier from a restaurant where they would have been eaten. Which means he’d stolen them after he learned they’d been sold by poachers. They were tiny rodents that had a striking resemblance to polar bears and whose flesh was supposed to have special properties. They could survive in extreme temperatures by breathing out fire. That wasn’t what Credence had in mind when he was first told about dragons, but it still amazed him.

They had planned on going north to free them, but in the meantime Newt had to check on them regularly. And despite his cooing and food offerings, none of the tiny creatures seemed to want to spend more time than necessary around him. Credence was tempted to inform Mr. Scamander that they became curious and started investigating when humans were immobile for extended periods of time. But he decided against it, as he had done since he had discovered it a couple days earlier. He liked keeping tiny, harmless secrets from his housemate. Before living with Newt, he risked punishment if he kept secrets, and his lack of talent for Occlumency left his mind an open book to Queenie. At the present time, he knew no consequences would come out of it: Newt would catch the rodents eventually, and if he ever learned that Credence knew how to attract them, he would praise him rather than getting angry. Maybe the praise was actually the main reason why Credence stayed mum. That made him far more uncomfortable than anger would.

 

-There are theories, of course, Mr. Scamander added after a while.

 

He was now kneeling as he had managed to catch one of the bear-rat by its tail, and was careful not to get his other hand too close as small puffs of fire were spit in his direction.

 

-You don’t like them, Credence noticed.

 

Mr. Scamander pouted. He tended to take that expression when he was trying to organise his thoughts so he could explain them to Credence. It generally led to long lectures that ended up dissolving into a bunch of tangents and Credence taking notes. He had learned very quickly how to summon a quill and parchment from his bedroom in the case’s shack.

 

-I think one of them might be right, he started slowly, carefully. But I don’t like that it is used to justify certain… Ideologies.

 

Credence frowned: he wasn’t sure he was understanding what the older man meant. Mr. Scamander put the small beast down carefully, apparently too focused on their conversation to risk getting bitten or burnt.

 

-The most likely theory says that magic is inherited through blood. Parents transmit their magic to their children. Of course, there are some… Exceptions. We call them Squib.

 

The word sounded both familiar and foreign to Credence. Where did he hear it? A wave of despair passed through him and he decided to stop trying to remember, concentrating instead on what Newt had to say.

 

-No one is totally sure what causes a child to be magicless. Maybe they just have a terribly low level of magic, or maybe they have Muggle ancestors…

-Are there Muggle children…

-Yes.

 

Newt sighed. Credence noticed his fingers drawing random patterns in the snow. From where he was, Credence could see the slight decoloration of the scars the magizoologist had accumulated.

 

-Some children are born in muggle families. Generally, a wayward wizard or witch can be found in their family tree, and it seems to be where their magic comes from. Some people, Pureblood, call those children “Mudblood”.

-Pureblood? Mudblood?

 

Credence was used to learning new vocabulary by now, but he had also learned that he needed to point it out as those terms were often considered basic knowledge by people who used them.

 

-Pureblood families have not been… (Newt sighed again, and shook the snow off his hand before wiping it against his shirt.) Contaminated by Muggles. They consider their family trees.. Err... Purer and more… Deserving of using magic.

-You don’t agree?

 

A humorless laughter escaped Newt, rapid and breathless like a coughing fit.  

 

-There are only a limited number of individuals that can be considered that “pure”. And they tend to try and procreate together, which means inbreeding, of course. That doesn’t seem to be the sanest way to give birth to children…

 

Newt suddenly yelped and jumped to his feet when one of the rodent decided to bite him for having let his hand too close to its burrow.

 

-I’m just trying to help, he pleaded to the small animal that responded with a small flame and a screech.

 

Newt’s focus dissolved in half heartfelt threats to take the creatures out of the case and into the sticky warmth of May. Credence let out an amused sigh and turned his attention back to the Obscurus that, pleased, rewarded him with a few somersaults from inside its bubble.

 

* * *

 

Credence was sitting at the table in his bedroom, in the shack. The tiny cabin had been rearranged to accommodate two adults soon after he joined Mr. Scamander in London. He was writing an essay about basic healing charms that night. Mr. Scamander tended to give him homeworks even if they lived together. He said it was good for Credence to use his own words to describe and memorise every subject. It also trained him to write more quickly and fluidly. He had learned to read and write at the church, but only so he could write and check on the leaflets, not so he could read books and learn about magic. Not for the first time, he felt a burning feeling of revenge when he thought about it : he was taking notes about spells, he was using what he had learned in that place to do something he was forbidden to even consider. A tight, angry smile spread on his lips. Until a loud crash and mumbled swears of various degrees of rudeness interrupted his train of thoughts. Mr. Scamander might be a good teacher, but he was sometimes terrible at navigating mundane things. Like cups of tea.

Credence exited his bedroom to find Newt sitting at the wooden table in the main room, hands in the air and looking disapprovingly at the small river of tea flowing towards a pile of papers. The draft of his book he had been correcting, Credence guessed. Pickett, the bowtruckle, was running on the sheets, leaving tiny black footprints behind. The cup had fallen on a bottle of ink, breaking it and mixing the two liquids and he had undoubtedly walked in it. Credence’s gaze followed the tea spilled on the table to the floor, where rested smashed china that must one day have shaped a cup. He looked back up. Newt was staring at him. They stayed like that, eyes locked for a strange heartbeat, before Newt turned his head down.

 

-I didn’t think that tea would still be so hot, he smile awkwardly.

-I enchanted the teapot yesterday. I didn’t know it’d last that long.

 

It sounded like an apology. Maybe it was. Newt nodded. Maybe he accepted it. He started fumbling amongst papers spread out around him to find his wand and fix the mess he made.

Credence busied himself fishing the cupboards for another teacup, trying to guess in which Newt had put them that day, trying harder not to see him perform magic. Magic didn’t bother him if it was used to summon things out of thin air, to make them disappear in a flash, or just to make life easier. He had loved watching Queenie enchant the room, and he missed the complicated ballet of hers and Tina’s cooking. But magic changing what he believed was immuable still made him uncomfortable. Magic enlarging clothes, magic turning sticks into needles… Magic repairing broken cups... That wasn’t natural. That felt a bit too much like miracles. It was easier to dismiss _her_ beliefs when magic abled things she couldn’t even imagine, to turn them into painful but distant memories. But miracles… If miracles were real, then could some other of her words be too? How deep went Credence’s sins? How right was she?

 

-Mr. Scamander, Credence called.

 

The other man’s head made a loud deep sound when it bumped against the table. He had apparently been cleaning the tea spilled on the floor.

 

-Yes?

 

Mr. Scamander was grimacing and rubbing the top of his skull. His hair had fallen on his face, hiding half of it. His habit of leaving it that way had surprised Credence at first, but actually made talking to him much easier. There was no intense eyes looking through his soul with Newt, no lying and trying to convince him he was cared about. Credence hesitated for a second before asking the question that was burning his brain.

 

-Is there a way to know who I inherited my magic from?

 

Mr. Scamander’s eyebrows shot up. Surely, he couldn’t be that surprised about the question. They had discussed the origins of magic that morning, he must have known that Credence would ask him something of this nature soon. Had he thought it was just a theoretical question, that had no link with Credence’s turmoils?

 

-Not that I know of, he eventually answered cautiously.

-My… Err, my… (Credence breathed in sharply) She used to say my mother was a witch.

 

Mr. Scamander’s frown deepened. Credence could almost see the way his train of thoughts went, could almost follow it with his finger, like reading an old grimoire. Credence had been adopted, he had no idea who gave birth to him. Maybe that was just an insult. Coming from anyone else, that would just sound like a regular insult, either on a woman who ended up leaving her child for whatever reason, or thrown out to bring him down. But coming from someone who was so determined to bring witches to the public eye, that couldn’t be just a coincidence, could it? Credence had been having the same reasoning for months now. Mr. Scamander sat back on his chair, looking at the ceiling. His retrieved wand spinning round his fingers was a usual and comforting sight.

 

-Maybe… Maybe she did know your mother.

 

Mr. Scamander didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t appear to manage to rule the possibility out.

 

-Could that be possible? I thought witches and no-maj…

-Laws are very often broken. We are breaking a lot of them right now, he grinned.

 

Credence let out a snorting laughter. They were both in an illegal case filled with unregistered magical beasts in a muggle district of Dublin. And Credence wasn’t even supposed to be alive in the first place. People he had met recently thought he was called Gabriel.

 

-There has always been witches and wizards living amongst muggles, Mr Scamander reasonned. Sometimes they just want to cause mischief, but other times they end up befriending or marrying them.

-Could my parents…

 

The word felt bitter and foreign of his tongue. He almost wanted to spit out the taste and never say it again.

 

-That is actually very likely. No Magical authorities found you before you became an adult. Chances are no one at MACUSA learned about your existence at all. I mean, before… (He coughed uneasily.) Maybe you have muggle family somewhere, or maybe your mother ran away and met, erm, Mary Lou Barebone…

-So she was right…

 

Blood was leaving Credence’s face, he could feel it. His legs went wobbly and he used a nearby chair as a crutch so he wouldn’t fall. Newt’s expression had gone serious and harsh.

 

-She might have been telling the truth about this, Credence, yes. But that doesn’t change what Tina, Queenie and I have been telling you. She was wrong on many other subjects.

 

The floorboards creaked when Newt stood up. When did that noise became so familiar to Credence? Why did hearing it make him feel safe? Since when did he knew exactly which planks to step on to stay silent and which ones to walk on to make them squeak and announce his presence? Newt put careful hands on his shoulders to guide him so he’d sit on the chair he had been leaning on.

 

-What Mary Lou Barebone said and did to you was not right. You never deserved it, Credence.

 

Some days, Newt repeated those words like a mantra until Credence would finally calm down. He always said them slowly, on an even tone, almost without any emotion. It was a very guarded way of speaking, that didn’t require too much involvement from either of them. Right now, Credence only needed to hear them once before he nodded. In some way, they had lost their meaning a long time ago, but they always comforted him. It was easy to think that Newt didn’t want him around, when they both tended to be very isolated people. But then he forced himself to stay serene and repeat the same phrases again and again, when he had other tasks to do, and Credence was reminded that Newt did care.

 

-If you want to learn more about your family, the family you were born in, we can write to Tina and ask her to look into MACUSA’s archives. There might be clues, traces of them somewhere...

 

Credence could breathe a bit more freely. He had the choice. If he wanted to learn more, he could. There were ways.

 

-I’m not sure yet, he admitted and he hated how broken he sounded.

-That’s alright.

 

Newt’s voice was firm, a lighthouse in the middle of Credence’s storm. Physical contacts were always light and brief on both of their sides, for different reasons that Credence didn’t want to examine just yet. But at that moment he couldn’t be more grateful for the hands on his shoulders that anchored him to the present moment. He could feel Newt’s body warmth against his knees where he was crouching and that felt weird but comforting.

 

-You don’t have to make a decision just now, Newt assured him. Just know that it’s a possibility.

 

Credence’s emotions were threatening to overcome him. The Obscurus in his body was tossing and turning, confused and pained. It wanted him safe, Credence had learned when he had first met the hostless Obscurus,. Nothing was endangering him at the moment, so he didn’t need rescue and the magical being was aimless and distressed at his sadness.

 

-I think we should leave the conversation here for tonight, what do you think, Newt asked.

 

Credence nodded, relieved but still unsure he could speak without breaking down. Newt hesitated a second before petting his head quickly as he stood up.

 

-I will make us another cup of tea and then I will go back to writing. I think I might be spending the night in the living room, I have too much work to go to bed.

 

It was a blatant lie. Newt only had a couple chapters to edit and much more time on his hands than he needed and they both knew that. But it was his coded way of telling Credence he could sleep on the couch a few feet away from the table if being alone was too much for him at that moment. They weren’t comfortable enough around the other to make this sort of proposition right away. They were getting there, though. Credence didn’t doubt that in some time one of them would tell the other when sleeping alone was too much of a hassle. But for now, Credence would keep using Newt’s work as an excuse, and Newt would keep pretexting his bedroom was too warm, to keep the window open and let random animals sleep on his bed.

 

-I think I’ll send an owl to Queenie and Tina tomorrow, he finally said after a while, once he was settled on the couch with a cup of tea.

 

Mr. Scamander hummed from the table behind him.

 

-Should I ask them if we can meet them soon?

-We will definitely need to spend some time in America in July, Newt answered with a smile in his voice. We might have to avoid New York, but we can arrange some time to see our friends.

 

Credence fell asleep a bit later, listening to Newt’s quill run on parchment and picturing Queenie’s hugs and Tina’s smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> Even if I've always wanted to make it a series, I never planned for this OS. I still love it, though. Hope you did too!
> 
> Thank you for reading! You can find me on tumblr ([@maud-eration](http://maud-eration.tumblr.com)) and maybe some day fort part 3.


End file.
